


A Delicate Balance

by Destina



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-12
Updated: 1999-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted to the MA list in 1999. Possibly my earliest attempt at using a metaphor in a story to represent an emotional conflict.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Delicate Balance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the MA list in 1999. Possibly my earliest attempt at using a metaphor in a story to represent an emotional conflict.

Obi-Wan adjusted the surveyor's equipment for the hundredth time and clicked a picture of the precise area he was mapping. He bent his head over the small datapad, entering numbers and frowning as he completed a brief calculation. Long expanses of lush green hills and plains stretched out in the valley below him, broken only by the dark expanse of river cutting across the land. 

A sharp twinge of pain lanced through Obi-Wan's shoulders, reminding him he had been working for many hours without stopping. Slowly, he raised his head, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the sensation of muscles tightening and cramping. He brought one hand to his neck and dug in his fingers to ease the tired, tense ache beneath his hand. 

Shadows lengthened over the valley as he watched, and the rising winds forced him back against the shelter of the rough outcropping he'd chosen for his work site. It was a perfect location, central to the area he was measuring, high enough to present a challenging climb, but not too difficult to reach. With a sigh, he leaned against the rock and began to muse about their mission. 

The small, unnamed planetoid was designated J5536, and was occupied by two groups of colonists from the vastly different homeworlds of Emar and Tatooine. The colonists from Tatooine were all former slaves, who took possession of parts of the single continent only a few years prior to the arrival of the Emarians. They settled in, believing their rights to be unquestioned, and began building a colony. 

Emar's contingent was made up of scientists, scholars and artists, who had come to study the vanished civilization from which the Emarian empaths were descended. The site had been chosen because of its archaeological treasures. They believed much of the planetoid was sacred because of its historical significance. Emarian colonists wanted to protect the planetoid, and hoped to spend several generations researching their past. 

For a time, both groups had coexisted in peace, but a nasty dispute over water rights had led to dissension over the rights to the planetoid's natural resources. When the two groups could not agree on the use of the planetoid -- the need to study the planet's history as opposed to mining it for profit -- the Emarians called for the intervention of the Senate. 

Two Jedi were dispatched to the planetoid, to live with the Emarians while they determined which sites were too significant to be plundered or colonized. It was a difficult task, involving hours of study regarding Emarian culture and the scant known history of J5536. There were maps to be drawn, talks to be conducted, negotiations and compromises. Eventually, the world would be divided between the two groups…but deciding which sites were important to each was the central challenge. 

Obi-Wan's reverie was broken by another cold gust of wind. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, wisps of storm clouds gathered, tinting the bright green hills dark and creating the illusion of texture. The elements on J5536 were quite unpredictable, but he found the small planet no less beautiful because of the strange weather. 

Secretly, he was pleased to have been sent along with Qui-Gon on this assignment to make a survey of the planet's resources. He'd spent time there with his master shortly after he became Qui-Gon's padawan, learning to adapt to the elements and accept any conditions he might encounter during a mission. It was supposed to be an unpleasant learning experience, part of his training, but Obi-Wan found he was fascinated by the odd patterns of light and dark, of mist and sunlight. The wild, almost raw feeling of being close to things beyond his control raised a longing in his 13-year-old self, but he had never understood that sensation or had time to examine it too closely. 

Even nine long years later, something about the weather on J5536 reminded him of his master, in an odd and entirely uncomfortable way. He dismissed the thought without dwelling on it; it was distracting, and he knew if he turned that feeling over to examine what lay beneath, he would never be able to pretend he had not looked. 

Wind whipped at his cloak, and a chilly fog began to rise around his position. Time to return. He quickly packed the collapsible tripod, imagers and other small items. After a moment's hesitation, he removed his robe as well, stuffing it into the small backpack. The wind was rising quickly, and the long robe would only hinder his descent. 

"Obi-Wan," said a tinny, faint voice, muffled by layers of clothing. 

The young Jedi fished around inside the hidden pockets of his belt and produced his comlink. "Here, Master," he answered, shivering as a forceful gust of wind pushed against him, chilling him all the way through as though he wore no clothes at all. 

"Time to wrap it up for the day, Padawan. There's a storm coming, a bad one." Qui-Gon's voice had an edge to it, a sharp urgency. 

"I've already packed up the equipment," Obi-Wan answered. "I'm on my way." He switched off the comlink and stopped to look at the pack resting on the ground at his feet. For a moment, he considered the option of securing the equipment against the rock and returning for it once the storm had passed. The pack itself was actually not very heavy, which would make it less likely to withstand the gusting winds. He knew he was more than capable of making his way back with the small additional weight of a few pounds on his back. They had just two sets of equipment, and the survey was far from complete. 

He looked at the sky, then at the small bundle. There was really only one logical decision. 

Without further delay, he hoisted the pack onto his back and fastened its straps around his waist. He moved to the edge of the outcropping and took hold of a small jutting piece of stone, using it as a handhold as he slung himself out onto the face of the cliff. Carefully, he dug his toes into the small crevasses and reached down gracefully, levering himself onto the next lowest safe hand and toeholds. 

Cold rain began to pelt Obi-Wan's face, stinging his skin, and within minutes he was soaked through. As his handholds became slippery, he closed his eyes and extended the Force around him like a warm cocoon, a third eye to help him find his way down. His movements became slow and cautious, and he shut his mind to the bone-deep cold seeping through him, burrowing deep into his joints. 

He dared not look down, but he could sense the ground was close, perhaps twenty feet away. Relief washed over him. His muscles were screaming their protest, and cramps were coiling in his calves and biceps, ready to unleash their misery on his body. Obi-Wan accepted the pain but could not surrender to it, so he focused on what awaited him below. Hot food, dry clothes. A warm bath… 

His stomach turned and the sky was behind him, and he realized with sudden clarity - *I am falling*. His body seemed numb, and he had time only to be grateful he was so close to the ground before he crashed into it. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Mud. 

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open and he retched. He turned his face away from the mud puddle under his cheek and spat out a foul-tasting quantity of dirt. Slowly, he dragged his arm up under his face and rested his bruised cheek there as he took an inventory. Arms and legs, all working. Head, still attached to his neck, apparently functioning -- mostly. Still breathing…but that part hurt. 

With a monumental effort, he shoved himself to his knees. Not badly hurt…and he'd landed on his face, so the equipment would be in perfect condition. 

He tried to estimate the amount of time he'd been unconscious. Not too long, or Qui-Gon would have come after him already. His fingers automatically went to the comlink at his belt and removed it - or what was left of it. The small display was shattered, and the signal indicator was smashed as well. 

One leg at a time, and he was upright, wavering slightly. He took a few deep breaths, surprised at the thin needles of pain accompanying each intake of air, and started moving in the direction of the village. 

The weather cleared above him in increments as he walked, and bright stars appeared above in the cracks and holes of invisible clouds. Under any other circumstances, he would have been content to let his head fall back so he could see the stars twinkling down at him, blazing their soft, slow trails across the heavens. Fatigue made his legs seem heavy, and he slowed as he neared the small house he shared with Qui-Gon. 

Jaw jutting out with determination, he forced his feet to move, knowing that his pain was radiating out from him in ways he couldn't control. As he reached the door, he also knew Qui-Gon was moving on the other side, and he found their training bond strangely jumbled, full of turmoil not his own. The door opened and Qui-Gon was there, blue eyes sweeping over his padawan for a moment before his hands closed on the slight shoulders and tugged the younger man inside. 

Obi-Wan sank down gratefully on a chair, assisted by his master, and tried not to wince as Qui-Gon unbuckled the pack and removed it, dropping it to the side. His cold, wet clothing began to steam in the warmth of the room as his master deftly unfastened his sash and belt. Obi-Wan attempted to raise his arms to remove his tunic, but heard his own breath hissing between his teeth, and looked up, alarmed, almost guilty at betraying his own injury. 

Qui-Gon's eyes were fastened to his face, and the storm which felled Obi-Wan was nothing compared to the storm in those eyes. His master dropped to one knee before him and took hold of the neck of the tunic. With one quick pull, he tore the tunic down the middle to allow his hands access to Obi-Wan's bruised, damaged ribs. "What happened?" he asked gruffly, sliding his hands gently across his padawan's torso. 

"I fell," Obi-Wan answered, and at the question in Qui-Gon's eyes, he added, "About twenty or thirty feet." 

"Did you lose consciousness?" Qui-Gon asked, reaching up to slip the tunic from Obi-Wan's shoulders, then returning to his examination. One hand closed around each of Obi-Wan's arms and were drawn down cautiously as Qui-Gon searched for broken bones. The touch was oddly sensual. Slow, thorough fingers explored his body, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes as confusion crept up on him suddenly. 

A hand cupped his chin. "Obi-Wan, look at me." 

The command was clear, and Obi-Wan obeyed immediately. His gaze met his master's, and Qui-Gon brushed his thumbs across Obi-Wan's throbbing cheekbones. "You mustn't go to sleep until I'm certain it's safe," Qui-Gon said. "Now answer me. Did you lose consciousness?" 

"For a little while," Obi-Wan admitted, spellbound by his master's eyes. "I don't know how long. It was still daylight when I woke." 

Qui-Gon nodded and proceeded to strip away Obi-Wan's trousers and boots. Obi-Wan considered protesting, but he seemed to lack the will to do so. "Don't close your eyes," his master warned, before disappearing into the other room for a moment. 

Obi-Wan turned his face toward the fire, lulled by its pleasant heat, and watched the shadows dancing with the flames. He turned his focus inward, centering himself around the pain in his sides, and used the Force to ease the ache and begin the healing. It seemed to require a great deal of concentration, and he was very sleepy… 

Only a fraction of a second later, Qui-Gon's voice drew him back. "Padawan," he said, voice very rough and almost angry. "Don't use the Force. You don't have the strength right now. Let me help." Qui-Gon placed a set of clean clothes on the table and draped a fuzzy quilt around Obi-Wan's shoulders. 

"It's been a long time," Obi-Wan said in an unsteady voice. His master considered him a man now, and he had not required Qui-Gon's help to heal himself in several years. Even as he spoke, Qui-Gon was kneeling before him again, curling his large hands around Obi-Wan's sides and closing his eyes. 

Warmth suffused Obi-Wan's body, tendrils of it sneaking into his sore muscles, soothing them. He could feel his master's power, and not for the first time, marveled at Qui-Gon's ability. There was something else within the Force, too, something enormous and important, but it was subtle, hidden from Obi-Wan's view. He reached out for it, but was pressed back, his gentle probe refused.

"Master?" he asked, watching Qui-Gon, tracing the tense lines of his master's body with curious eyes. 

Qui-Gon's head snapped up, and Obi-Wan drew a breath of surprise at the open emotion in the blue depths. He blinked, unsure of what he was seeing…and it was gone, as fast as it appeared. Qui-Gon pulled his hands back quickly, as though he'd been burned, and they stared at one another. A connection seemed to blossom suddenly, made of tentative touches, elusive fragments of memory, and hidden dreams. 

Slowly, Qui-Gon stood, and reached for Obi-Wan's dry clothing. Without a word, Obi-Wan let the quilt slip from his bare shoulders, and finished drawing on his shirt as Qui-Gon dropped the tunic over his head. Qui-Gon pulled fresh trousers over Obi-Wan's feet and the younger man reached to the waistband to pull them up. Qui-Gon's hands slipped under his hips and lifted him as he tugged the trousers into place, and their eyes met again as the younger man's hips tipped forward. 

Obi-Wan's eyes followed Qui-Gon as his master turned and stoked the fire. Silence filled the room, creeping through the cold corners, into the empty spaces. Obi-Wan tentatively stretched his arms above his head, found he could move without much pain, and smiled. 

"Thank you, Master," he said quietly. "My ribs feel much better." 

"You might have been killed," Qui-Gon answered, just as quietly. "It would have been wiser to leave the pack and return for it in the morning." 

"The survey equipment might have been lost, and I didn't want to take the chance. It would have meant this mission would be even longer, and I…" Obi-Wan's voice trailed off as he realized how his words would be received. 

"The mission, in this case, would not have been jeopardized by a few weeks' delay," Qui-Gon chided, turning to face Obi-Wan. He pulled a chair from the table and sat down, straddling the seat, resting his arms on the high back. "It is important to be able to judge when your safety may be placed before the mission, and when it may not. This was one occasion where the cost of those items might have been your life, Obi-Wan, and your life is not yours to give for something so trivial. Your life belongs to…" 

*It belongs to you*, thought Obi-Wan, and the errant phrase turned his body into a sparking mass of confused impulses. 

"…to the Jedi, and to your oath of service," Qui-Gon finished. "And I won't have you risk yourself like that again. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, Master." The words seemed to catch against his tongue, heavy and reluctant. There were other things he wanted to say, other questions nagging to be asked, but he found himself restrained by uncertainty. And then the moment passed, and it was too late. 

"Get to bed, Obi-Wan. You've healed sufficiently; I don't think there's anything your body can't right on its own now. You took a good knock to that hard head of yours. I'm sure it's aching, but you'll be better in the morning." Qui-Gon sounded relieved, and a little amused. "Don't fight it any longer. Sleep would be the best thing for you." 

"I can't keep my eyes open," Obi-Wan murmured drowsily as he got to his feet. 

Qui-Gon rose and came to his side. He followed Obi-Wan into the bedroom, and watched as Obi-Wan got into bed, yanking the blankets up around his chin. Obi-Wan's last clear thought was to wonder if Qui-Gon would remain there all night. 

He already knew the answer, and it followed him down into sleep. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *  
Sunlight tickled Obi-Wan's face as he woke by degrees. He delayed opening his eyes as long as possible. The thought of climbing and standing all day made him remember his aching sides, and he burrowed deeper beneath the covers, groaning into the pillow. 

"Are you all right, young Jedi?" The voice was decidedly not Qui-Gon's, and Obi-Wan peeked out from between the pillow and blanket. The Emarian liaison, Jerat Erru, was sitting beside his bed, looking concerned. 

"Good morning," Obi-Wan said, offering a wan smile. "I'm fine. I'm just…stiff." 

"After the fall your master described to me this morning, I don't doubt it for a moment," Erru agreed. "That's a bad place to fall. Nothing soft to catch you! No wonder your master decided to let you sleep." 

"Where is Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan asked, sitting up gingerly. 

"He's gone off to finish the survey you started yesterday. He left you in my care." Erru tilted his head and looked at Obi-Wan with a disconcerting smile. "I have some artifacts to show you which I think you might find particularly interesting, young man. Yes…they should prove interesting indeed." 

The thoughtful tone provoked a frown from Obi-Wan as he remembered suddenly that the Emari were empaths, sensitive to the feelings of others. He slammed down his mental barriers, unsure of what he'd been broadcasting to make the liaison smile so broadly. 

"I'll leave you to start your day," Erru said, rising from his chair. "You know where the archaeological center is, here in the village?" At Obi-Wan's affirmative nod, the liaison added, "Meet me there. Your master has instructed you are to be kept busy and watched closely today, and I know just the thing." With another enigmatic smile, Erru was gone. 

Obi-Wan crept out of bed, ignoring his protesting body, which seemed frozen into one uncomfortable position. Something told him he was not at all prepared for whatever the liaison had in mind.

He went straight for the 'fresher, scattering clothes along the way, and exhaled a sigh of pleasure as the hot water beat against his body. He stood still, enjoying the caress of the steam and heat, and thinking about Qui-Gon. 

It was unusual for his master to leave him alone after any mishap that required healing, or a lecture, or both. And Qui-Gon had said himself that the mission was not terribly critical or urgent. Why had he run off at dawn to complete Obi-Wan's unfinished survey? Obi-Wan knew there must be a reason, and he suspected he could guess what it was, but he let the thought glide across his mind without looking closely at it. It washed away with the water, and he let it go, along with the other feelings and thoughts skittering around his heart and mind. 

Eyes closed, he began to meditate, achieving a blank nothingness, embracing it. 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Right on time, Obi-Wan entered the small, dark building where he was to meet Jerat Erru. The air was cool, the lighting dim, and Obi-Wan felt immediately as though he were in a comfortable place, somewhere he was welcome. He smiled as Erru emerged from a back room. 

"You seem none the worse for the wear, young Jedi! Come, this way." Erru gestured toward the door behind him and led the way. 

Obi-Wan followed, past cases full of objects he didn't recognize. Some of them were tiny statues. Others were utensils, faded and broken by time. He lingered near a small piece of tile, a colorful representation of two women smiling at one another. "These are lovely," he remarked, going from case to case, lost in the past. 

"I see you have an appreciation for history, Obi-Wan." Erru joined him beside one of the cases. "My people greatly long to understand their heritage. What you see here is our fondest dream." 

"I can understand why," Obi-Wan said, somewhat awed by the scope of what he saw. 

Erru's hand closed on his arm with a friendly pat. "There will be time for all this later. But first, the reason you're here…" He steered Obi-Wan through another doorway, into an even darker room.

Obi-Wan's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he looked at the single object displayed there under an unfocused light. "What is it?" he asked curiously, approaching the stand with Erru. 

"This, young Jedi, is very rare. These objects were used by my people to preserve knowledge, long before there were text scrolls and datalogs. It is called a book." 

"I've heard of them, but I've never seen one," Obi-Wan said in a hushed tone. He extended his hand, caught himself just in time, and withdrew it. 

"We haven't deciphered the language yet, but the book itself has…some interesting properties. Properties someone like you could appreciate far more than I can." Erru looked longingly at the yellowed object, with its withered pages. 

"Someone like me?" Obi-Wan echoed. 

"Someone who understands the way of the Force, who is trained to use its many properties." Erru smiled that knowing smile again. "You'll see. Go ahead, touch it." 

Obi-Wan reached out again and hesitantly touched the page. He ran his hand across the bold print, feeling the raised letters beneath his fingertips. A sense of time moving sideways caught him off guard, and he snatched his hand back. "What…" he breathed. 

"Let it speak to you," Erru urged. He caught Obi-Wan's hand and placed it back on the book. "Hear your own heart, Obi-Wan. Listen to its message." 

Obi-Wan quickly centered himself and reached out through the living Force. The response was strong enough to cause a crashing in his head, just before reality turned upside down. 

The room faded away into the background of his consciousness, very far away. There was no sound save for the beating of his heart and his soft, even breathing. Pictures began to form in his mind, vague and blurred, unfinished. He concentrated, trying to bring them into focus. The edges of the visions were bright, like clear jewels scattered on white velvet, and Obi-Wan looked past them into the fragile center of the illusion. 

He saw shapes moving, and knew with certainty these were lovers as their passion exploded intimately into his mind, twisting him with desire. He felt he should understand, should recognize them, but once again he pushed his intuition away, and the images grew indistinct and faded. 

They were replaced by other fragmented colors, which coalesced into the image of a hand against skin, touching, drawing lines with a broad finger. It seemed familiar, yet not familiar, as the finger brushed against open lips…and was replaced by a mouth, pushing gently, accepting no refusal, fusing the two together as one. 

Obi-Wan felt the pressure of a persistent tug at the back of his mind, a need he refused to admit, a wish he could fulfill, if he were willing to let it live within him. He skirted the edges of it, considering the wisdom of giving his deepest fear the power to exist alongside his strongest wish, and knew he could not do so. But there would be a time… 

One more image leapt into his consciousness then, clear and no longer distorted. Time righted itself, and though the moment and place were not clear to him, he understood the message he was given, in a language needing no interpretation. 

Reality slammed back into place. Disoriented, Obi-Wan was grounded by the firm pressure of Erru's hand on his wrist. "Do you see, young Jedi?" the empath asked hopefully. 

Obi-Wan could only nod, and hope the other man could sense his gratitude. 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

For the rest of the day, there was nothing to be done but wait. Obi-Wan tried to pass the time by reading about the various artifacts, but nothing held his attention. He wandered back to their small dwelling and occupied himself there for a while, tidying things, keeping himself busy. 

When his body refused to cooperate with the pointless tasks any longer, he sat in a chair by the fire and meditated, opening himself to all the thoughts and feelings he had blunted for so long, examining the reasons for his own reluctance, seeking understanding. One at a time, he unlocked the doors, and the light began to reveal many secrets inside his heart. 

Darkness came quickly, catching him unaware, and he turned his face to the door as Qui-Gon came through with a rainstorm on his heels. Lightning lit the windows as his master smiled to see him there. 

"You look none the worse for the wear, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon observed, setting the backpack on the table and removing his robe. "I'm pleased to see you looking rested. Did Erru keep you busy?" 

"He did indeed, my Master. I learned a great deal this day." 

Something in the way the words were spoken gave Qui-Gon pause, and he gave Obi-Wan a searching look. "You didn't tax yourself, I hope," he said. 

"On the contrary, Master. I feel…enlightened." He met his master's gaze with a level look, waiting. 

Qui-Gon began to unpack the equipment without further comment. Item after item was dusted off and stored. After a time, the bag was almost empty, and Qui-Gon was ready to engage in a dialogue, as Obi-Wan had known he would be. "Tell me the nature of the lesson," his master instructed finally. 

"I've been very foolish," Obi-Wan said softly. 

"It could have been much worse," Qui-Gon said, misunderstanding Obi-Wan's meaning. He polished the lens of the imager and set it on a high shelf alongside its twin. "You weren't injured badly, and that's the important thing." 

"I don't mean that," Obi-Wan said. "I'm talking about loving you." 

Qui-Gon froze in mid-movement. He turned back to Obi-Wan, and something flashed across his features. "What did you say?" he asked slowly, his tone registering his disbelief. 

"You were waiting for me, weren't you? And I refused to understand." Obi-Wan folded his hands together in his lap, marveling at how calm he was in contrast to the wild look in Qui-Gon's eyes. "I was afraid I misunderstood, that you wouldn't want me, and so I never really allowed myself to look too closely at what there was between us." 

Qui-Gon's stunned silence was eloquent. 

"But it was always there, wasn't it? Or at least, it was there if I'd had enough sense to see it." Obi-Wan stood and moved across the short distance between them. "These last few years, you've tried to control it, so I wouldn't see, and I helped you by making myself blind." He laid his palm against Qui-Gon's face. "I'm not going to help you anymore." 

"I am your master," Qui-Gon said in a strained voice, the muscle in his jaw tightening under Obi-Wan's hand. 

The younger man could feel the breaking point approaching, like a wave nearing the shore. "You are my master," Obi-Wan agreed simply. 

Qui-Gon struggled a moment more, and then his control broke, driven by a desire held in check for far too long. Obi-Wan felt himself enfolded in two arms so strong that his strength was only a shadow by comparison, and a warm mouth covered his, hungry and truthful. His lips parted under the demanding push of his master's exploration, and a tongue danced inside him, retreating and returning a moment later, marking his lips with invisible trails of fire. 

Obi-Wan sighed his pleasure into one soft breath as Qui-Gon's lips tasted his need, mapping it, before releasing him. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the side of his master's face, and thunder rumbled nearby. 

"The storm is here," Obi-Wan said quietly.


End file.
